Seasonal
by WildeOne
Summary: Ginny/Hermione. Series of ficlets depicting Hr/Gin over seasons, and sometimes inbetween.
1. Seasonal

Seasonal

A series of 100 word Hermione/Ginny ficlets. Will be added to on and off. They can be read on their own, but would be best read in order.

Enjoy.

--WolfHawk

            Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, nor, unfortunately, are Hermione and Ginny. Damnit.

            Warning: Yes, this is FEMMESLASH, so beware!


	2. Autumn

            We're running together. It's autumn. Yesterday I found a leaf the same colour as her hair. She never holds still.

            "I can't breath," I say, and stop running.

            She laughs at me, mocking, and runs off ahead.

            "Ginny!," I shout, "Come back!"

            She keeps running, her hair disturbingly bright against the dead grey of the trees.

            "You'll have to catch me!" she laughs and keeps running.

            I suddenly speed up and tackle her to the ground.

            "Hermione, you're hurting me," she pouts, pushing me off her.

            "I love you," I say.

            Her eyes cloud, and then she turns away, laughing.


	3. Candy

No one should be allowed to eat like that. It's obscene. I'm sure it's illegal somewhere, Zanzibar perhaps. Maybe there they'd cut out her tongue for licking like that.

            "Ginny, stop it!"

            "Stop what?" all sticky innocence.

            "Never mind."

            She shrugs with a faint smile and goes back to swirling her tongue across George and Fred's latest invention.

            I sigh and try to concentrate on the scritch-scratch of my quill across blank parchment.               

"What?" she queries.

            "Nothing."

            "Hermione, if this is about…"

            "No, really it's nothing, it's fine."

            "Are you sure?"

            "Yeah."

            Silence. I continue writing.

            "Hermione?"

            "Yeah?"

            "I'm sorry."


	4. Winter

            It's cold at night, and she slips into my bed. "Just to get warm for a minute," she says solemnly. I lie there, willing myself to sleep, willing her legs away from the tangle of mine, willing her to get warm quickly and leave me alone.

            I think it's snowing again. I hate snow. Yesterday she had a snowball fight with Harry and her brother, her face  glowing and drifts of snowflakes interspersed with her hair; ice with flame.

            I'm cold, even with her in bed with me. It couldn't hurt to just put my arm around her, could it?


	5. Sapphic

We're sitting alone in the common room when it happens.

"I'm not gay," she announces.

"I know," I go back to reading.

"I mean, I don't have anything against you lesbians, but I like boys."

I sigh and put down my book.

"What is it Ginny?"

"Do you still like me?" she blurts out.

"Yes." I answer honestly.

"Oh," she says, "I thought so." Pause. "Can I just make sure?"

"Make sure what?" I ask.

"This," she says, and clumsily tries to kiss me. I try to pull back, but it's too late. Her lips are already burned onto mine.


	6. Spring

            It's wet. The rain hasn't let up for a solid week now, and the ground is completely saturated with water. She splashes in puddles noisily, soaking the hem of my trousers with muddy water. She shrieks with laughter.

            "Look 'mione!" she cries in delight as she brings me – with reverent awe – the first daffodil. I smile,

            "Thanks Gin," and she beams like the sun.

            She hugs me then, her wet t-shirt draped body pushed onto mine. I know before she moves that she's going to kiss me, and even though my stomach turns I make no move to stop her.


	7. Hair

            She likes to brush my hair. I think it's because I'm her project and she's determined to try and make me beautiful. But I don't mind really. Her small soft hands card through my hair, as she makes small noises, "you really should take better care of your hair…" drifting in and out like ocean waves, "…such lovely hair…" "…don't ever think of cutting it…" the last startles me out of reverie.

            "You think it would look bad?"

            "Not at all. I just don't like change."

            "But everything has to change sometime. That's life."

            She nods sagely but doesn't understand.


	8. Summer

            "I love you," she says, as we're lying in the grass outside the Burrow in the noisy night-heat of summer. She smells like grass clippings (Fred threw some in her hair earlier, rubbed the green into her skin). She reaches her hand across to me, tentatively twining her fingers with mine.

            The stars are very bright tonight, no clouds. I block her from my senses as I count the sisters in the Pleiades. I can never seem to find the elusive seventh though. Sometimes I doubt she exists.

            "I love you," she repeats anxiously.

            "I'm sorry," I whisper. She sighs.


	9. Glamour

            I'm doing her make-up. I don't know why. It's not as though I really know what I'm doing but the chance to touch her so intimately proved too hard to resist. Brushing eye-shadow across the delicate skin of her eyelids, light blue, I'm moved by the trust implicit in her face. She has her chin tilted up to me, lips slightly parted. Foundation, power, lipstick. I know spells for this but she insists it's more real done by Muggle-hand.

            "I don't really know how to put eye-liner on." I apologise.

"It's okay. Neither do I." She means more than cosmetics.


	10. Aftermath

It's just the two of us in this train compartment, on our way back to Hogwarts.

"I'm sorry for all of this 'mione," she waves a hand.

"Yeah me too."

"We never really talked about it."

"Do you want to?"

"No not really."

"Good," I say, relieved.

"I…" we both start at the same time, and she laughs like she used to.

"Okay," I say, and reach out a hand for her to shake, and she surprises me (or maybe it's not so surprising) by leaning forward, our knees touching. When my lips meet hers, neither of us pull away.


End file.
